CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

MIRABELLA.

I am stuck alone.

Words whispered through tears, one which forged an uncommon bond with my own self. A lifeline that has kept me anchored.

I have lived alone.

Strived alone.

Survived alone.

Me against me.

Me for me.

Wrong.

I have a family, a complete family. My husband, my children, my mother in-law, my sister in-law, friends, well wishers, soldiers, business associates.

I am constantly surrounded by love.

Life is good.

Do you want to know what else is good? The. . .

“What might my beautiful wife be seriously thinking about?” Wet kisses meet my neck. I moan at the warmth of his tongue gliding down my neck line.

“Do you never get tired?”

My husband hums, his teeth nibbling my skin. “Perhaps stay in bed for as long as seven months and tell me if it doesn’t build your sexual stamina.”

Chuckling, I say, “You’re unserious.”

“I’m seriously horny.”

“Crazy.” I joke.

My husband hums. “For you.”

“I’m busy. I have. . .we have a job to finish.”

“Let me finish inside you first.”

I laugh. “So needy.”

“It's not my fault I have a beautiful wife.” His lips tip up into a smile, his eyes closing. Holding my arms, he leans forward and our lips collide.

The gentle touch of our lips sends a jolt of electricity through my spine. I moan.

My husband’s lips are enchanting, an awakening to my soul, one which makes me crave so much, one which makes me want so much more.

I revel in the exquisite taste of him.

“God, Bella.” Matteo groans, pulling me impossibly close to him. “I’ve tasted your lips a million times, and yet, I find myself desiring it more desperately. I find myself craving for it like a deprived man.”

His words are a catalyst to the stimulation I already feel, drawing a desperate mewl from my throat.

Our lips part, our unsteady breathing clashing against one another.

My lustful eyes stare into his, and his into mine. His thumb gently stroking my cheek.

“I love you, Mirabella Denaro.” My husband suddenly declares.

Those words cause an excited jump of my heart. I have heard him say those words time and time again, and yet, today feels so different.

A good different.

Because for the first time since my marriage to Matteo Messina Denaro, I completely believe those words without a doubt.

He loves me, and that is his truth.

He fought with death and won because he loves me.

He stayed alive because he loves me.

And our marriage will continue to flourish because he loves me. And I love him too.

“Why?” I ask.

“Why?”

“Why do you love me, Matteo?”

My husband’s chest vibrates with a chuckle, his mischievous eyes glistening with excitement. “Why don’t I show you.”

A gasp erupts in my throat when my dress is ripped apart, and my back lands on the bed.

Matteo is on me in a matter of seconds, his gentle eyes savoring my naked body. And I lay bare and open to him—confident. Not afraid to show off my scars.

Matteo did that.

He made me realize how beautiful I am. How strong I am.

Gently prying open my thighs so that he settles between them, Matteo’s whispered words begin gracing my ears. “With you, I feel so worthy. I feel human, like I am deserving of love, like I’m deserving of the beautiful things life has to offer. As though my scars don't define me. As though my past cannot define my future. With you, I can feel my heart beating in ecstasy, with a new rhythm. I can feel true, profound joy. You have given me a family, a complete one. A reason to live. A sense of responsibility.”

My heart swells with pride, and all I do is smile at my husband—my way of showing my appreciation for his beautiful words.

Slowly, cautiously. . .eagerly, Matteo’s lips begin to unravel my body, sucking on my skin delicately.

I look at him.

He looks at me.

We share the same look—a look that grants one another the permission to explore our souls. Slowly, he leans down, capturing my lips with his as his firm, yet, soft hands caress me.

I am so stimulated. And although indignant, I feel my pelvis weakening. I feel the liquid pooling out of me, and yet, all I do is anticipate. Anticipate the feel of him—anticipate when he decides to fill me to the brim.

My husband takes his time kissing me, and when our lips part, I ask. “Those aside, why else do you love me?”

A different kind of light flickers in his eyes, his lips wearing a beautiful smile. “Have you taken a proper look at yourself, Mirabella, hmm?” He hums. “Your beauty is incredulous. . .so immaculate. So unbelievable.” His hand slides between us, two fingers gently easing into me.

Surprised, I gasp a moan while I dig my fingers into his shoulders.

Just as his fingers move in and out of me, Matteo resumes speaking. “Sometimes, I wonder how anyone can embody such beauty, such gracefulness, such. . .you’re so beautiful. Extremely, peculiarly beautiful.”

His thumb is on my clit, stroking with gentility, causing a shudder of my body. “Oh God!” My body is shaking with a desperate need to reach the pinnacle of pleasure.

My husband notices this and retrieves his expert fingers, immediately discarding his bathrobe.

“Oh my. . .” I feel his tip stroking gently, my clit. I feel the warmth of his cock. I feel it’s desperation to be let inside me. “Matteo. . .which one of my physical features do you appreciate the most?”

A scream erupts in my throat at the sudden intrusion—a pleasurable intrusion. The intrusion I have been anticipating. My husband’s cock, fully inside me, my walls tight around the length. My eyes close shut, a strained cry escaping my lips as my muscles tighten.

“Look at me, baby. Open those eyes.” My husband’s strained voice urges me.

I obey.

A whimper escapes me as my eyes flutter open to meet his feral ones.

Matteo leans down to ghost his lips over mine. “Those eyes. . .my favorite.” He groans, jerking forward. “You look at me and I lose my senses. You look at me and all I desire is to go on my knees and worship you. To worship the ground you walk upon.”

His hips roll into mine, a moan escaping his throat strenuously. Pulling my ear lobe into his mouth, he muffles, “do I have to start with this sweet pussy of yours?”

Pleasure.

He says those words and we lose ourselves to pleasure. To our love.

My husband unravels me for hours. He doesn’t rush it. He takes his time. Gentle, consistent, steady, hard, exquisite, graceful—respectful.

Matteo pays my body so much respect while degrading it.

And I enjoy it every second, every minute, every hour—every step of the way. Because, I have won.

In a lifetime where I thought there isn’t any hope for me in love and happiness, in a lifetime where I’ve accepted my losses, in a lifetime where I have embraced failure, happiness found me.

I found myself a family filled with love and laughter. A husband who cherishes me. Children who sing praises of their mother.

I won.

Under my husband’s touch, through my release, a smile coats my face, because I know. . .I know I am a winner.

I know this is not the end of our story, but the beginning of the many beautiful years to come.

The End.